It Gets Worse
by Suibrom
Summary: Just a one shot short story with 90's Morbius the Living Vampire because he's angsty and I love him. Mild descriptions of violence, Adult situations. Enjoy and leave me a review if you like it.


The club was dark, always dark as the clientele didn't much care for lights that weren't pulsing on the dance floor. Bass thumped loudly through the walls in tremors that caused rings of vibration in the drinks but customers didn't react favorably this early in the night. No one was dancing.

The man in the trenchcoat slipped through the front door past the bouncer who knew him well, he'd seen him come and go at least once a week for months now. He clutched his coat collar closed around him and made a mad dash for the bar. The bartender, a young hipster in his twenties sat pouring drinks. His nametag said Jake.

"Is Sara working?"

The bartender known as Jake didn't so much as glance upward at him, his concentration spent on steadying the bottle of blue curacao. Once the drink was poured and served he finally looked up staring the man down. "Yeah, she's here."

"I need to see her tonight."

"Bad day?" The bartender smirked at him and he suppressed the urge to kill this Jake. It would be easy.

"Yes." He reached deep in his pocket and fumbled around for the cash. Three hundred dollar bills dropped on the counter crumpled with a handful of fives and tens. The bartender stuck his hand out and swept them into the cash drawer nonchalantly. He replaced the bills with a small silver key and went back to his other clients.

The man gripped the key tight in his sweaty palm and waded through the inebriated crowd to the stairs. He climbed them nervously one by one and reached the door marked on the outside as Staff Only: No Admittance in bright bold letters. The key fit the lock and he stepped inside locking the door behind him. The room was near empty besides a young woman who sat on a worn bed with her legs folded to the side intently reading a book. She was wearing little besides a leather teddy and thigh high stockings and upon seeing him perked up from her book closing it carefully on the bookmark to hold her place. "Oh, it's you."

"I'm in a bad way tonight Sara."

She sat up on the bed crossing her legs in front of her. "I'll get the stuff okay?" her voice betrayed genuine concern as she pulled a tray of needles and medical implements from under the bed.

He sat on the floor against the wall where a set of chains hung ending in two antique brass shackles that he clipped tight around his wrists and screwed shut. "I'm sorry about this."

"Hey, don't worry about it, okay?" Sara grasped a packet and a drinking glass and scooted towards him on her knees. She checked his shackles, they were tight enough and as she tested the chains he caught an awkward glance into her brown eyes then turned away embarrassed. She smiled and ripped the wrapping on the plastic lancet handing it over to him as she offered him her left arm.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. Go ahead."

The man traced her veins with his fingers finding a good spot amidst the scars and pressed the lancet into her skin, piercing it, and causing the blood to fill the tube. She withdrew from his reach to the safety of the bed and let the flow fill the bottom of the glass with blood. He growled as she passed the first one over and he downed it in three gulps while she worked on the next cup from the box. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him dart his tongue out to methodically lick the glass clean.

"Feeling better?"

"A little. I'm not safe right now though, don't come near me."

"I won't. I know the protocol by now."

"Good."

She passed over the second glass with about half a pint of deep red blood in it. He tipped it back closing his eyes and savoring every drop on its way down. He licked that glass clean too an inch at a time. The taste was intoxicating.

"Dammit, I hit a snag. This might be all I can get for you. I'm a bit dizzy too."

"That's fine, I can't thank you enough."

She pulled out the lancet while wincing and wrapped a bandage around her arm. The little bit of liquid she had managed in the third cup she gave to him and then packed away the kit. He downed it and stayed sitting on the floor shackled and silent for a few minutes before he spoke, his breath heavy. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm good. No more clients tonight, I need sleep and probably some juice. Are you okay?"

"Yes, that should hold me for now."

"You're not going to freak out?"

"No." He unscrewed the shackles and let them fall rattling. "I owe you one."

"You owe me nothing."

He groaned. "One of these days you must consider that debt absolved."

She laid down sprawled out on the bed and laughed. "Never!"

"This is serious."

"So am I." She turned to be able to gaze at him as he sat next to her on the corner of the bed. "How many pints of blood is a life worth?"

"The average human has about ten pints..."

"That's not what I asked. Not how many pints I have, but how many pints am I worth? I'm a prostitute Michael. When he first started beating me I went to the police and they didn't care. Police don't save whores, superheroes don't stop pimps. Spider-man doesn't patrol outside cathouses, and the X-men don't save women like me. You did."

He turned away. "I just needed to feed..."

"Yeah, and I was just trying to feed myself, but he would have killed me. I don't care about your addiction. We all got addictions and it doesn't make us monsters. People choose to be monsters."

He started to speak and then stopped and just folded his arms in front of him. "I should go."

"You don't have to. You can stay if you want. I don't mind."

"No.. I can't stay." He glanced over her in her leather lingerie. The suggestion was obvious. "My wife wouldn't have approved."

Sara lifted a hand to his shoulder and pulled the coat back from him revealing his face in the light. His eyes looked like they had seen hell and a single red tear drooped from the corner. On previous visits she had reminded him about his fiance's death years prior to horrible effect. She'd learned since just to keep quiet about it rather than upset him. He'd prefer to keep her memory this way. "It's okay hun. You can go, I'll see you again."

He rose and pulled the collar of his coat back up to conceal his face as much as possible. "Thank you."

As he walked to the door and slipped out taking one last look backwards she muttered out a "No. Thank you."

He walked down the stairs a man torn and skirted the edge of the now dancing and active crowd while heading towards the bar. Jake stood waiting and he passed over the silver key. "She needs some fluids. Send her up some orange juice."

Jake smirked. "I know what she needs. She'll be fine."

He eyed the bartender in evaluation. A time will come when he'll try to hurt one of the women working here. Michael could see it in his eyes like he could see it in others he had drained and killed. That spark that happened mid argument for some men, the shift in intent from subjugation to extermination. He could see the potential and reassured himself that the time would also come when Jake would be little more than blood and meat. A meal and nothing more. For tonight Michael walked away from the bar and towards the door intent upon leaving.

"Wait." Jake started after him.

Michael stopped. The thud of the music pounding in his temples like thunder. "What? What do you want. I already paid you."

"I know, I counted the cash. You're a vampire right? She told me that you take blood."

"She wouldn't have given you that info voluntarily. What we do is _private_." He growled it out angrily.

Jake didn't bother addressing his accusation. "Are you or aren't you?"

"I am in a manner of speaking."

"Turn me. Do it."

Michael grimaced revealing his pointed teeth. "Turn you?! Turn you?! You think this is a _game_?!" He continued towards the exit and Jake pursued. Outside the club Jake circled around him in intended confrontation.

"I said DO IT!"

"You idiot!" Michael grabbed him by the collar of his striped polo shirt and held him out at arm's length. "You think this is so great that you'd throw your life away!? You think I've had a single happy day in thirty years?! You want to live off of people like a leech?! LIKE ME?!"

"Yeah, there's always hookers for feeding like you do and when you're immortal there's always another day ahead. It gets better."

Michael's eyes flashed red fire. "Okay you want to feel this?!" He grabbed the other man by the shoulder and pulled him in driving his needle-like teeth through the flesh of Jake's neck and sucking out a gush of blood. It flowed down his throat and he gulped it greedily for a minute while Jake screamed in agony. He then using all of his will forced himself to stop and dropped Jake like a ragdoll to the street. A small crowd gathered outside the bar watching them. Jake cried and twitched on the pavement.

Michael hocked a wad of spit at the crumpled man. "You are alive right now because of Sara. I just want you to know that. You should thank her that you have another day! If you ever hurt her I'll be back for you. Just give me a reason, a single reason one night and I will find you!" The crowd roared and several people called the cops on their phones. Those that didn't snapped pictures like gawking idiots.

Michael Morbius just strolled casually away and no one from the crowd dared to try and stop him. He mumbled to himself as the ambulance sirens howled now blocks away. "Always another day.. always another. That's what I'm afraid of. It doesn't get better. It gets worse, it always gets worse."


End file.
